


Slip of the Tongue

by AKnightOfAGoodKing



Series: She Is the Batman [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Fluff, Hostage Situations, Love, Past Sexual Assault, Sweet, batfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 09:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15861132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKnightOfAGoodKing/pseuds/AKnightOfAGoodKing
Summary: In the rare slip of the tongue, she takes after her mother, even now.A continuation of "She Is the Batman" in this series.





	Slip of the Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> **[DO NOT REPOST/REUSE MY WORK(S) WITHOUT MY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND PERMISSION.]**
> 
> (Trying to flush out ideas of the family dynamics in this verse.)

Bruce's smile was tight, the hand on her back unfamiliar and the man too close, the heat of his body suffocating her just a little. She could breathe, but she felt faint, her heart pumping strongly as she gripped the champagne glasses with both hands to hide her slight tremors. 

"Brucy, you should come to my vacation house this weekend," the man, forty-three year old Jacob Barnes, said again, smiling at her as if she's something to add to his list of women. "Nova Scotia is lovely this time of year, though not as lovely as you."

Having "Brucy" Penny Wayne, the Princess of Gotham, between his fingers would make him a Gothamite celebrity overnight, the city's princess the greatest prize to win. She knew all about it, how men try to make her into some sort of game, and she always dreaded it because you can't run away at a party, not without being offensive. But that didn't mean she was short of words; the memories of Thomas flashed horribly vivid when  _they_ invade her personal space, stealing her voice from her throat like a sea witch.

"Excuse me," she heard, and she was filled with relief that it was one of her sons, Tim who gone to mingle with some socialites. 

"Tim," Bruce said, not yet moving but her smile loosened, "how is the gala?"

Tim nodded, walking up to his mother and offering her his hand. "It's fine. I wanted to ask if you'd want to dance, Bruce."

Barnes was about to protest, but Bruce quickly answered, taking the offered hand, "Of course. My apologies, Mister Barnes, perhaps we can continue talking another time?"

"There will be other dances," Barnes said smoothly with a grin. "I must have you over sometimes, Brucy." 

Bruce forced a laugh. "That's very kind of you, but I'm unable to spare much of my time these days."

"But Bruce has been trying to find a way to speak with your wife, Mister Barnes," Tim added with a sweet smile. "WE is interested creating a fashion line, and I've heard great things about your wife's company. Will she be there in your vacation house in Novia Scotia too?" 

Bruce resisted the urge to let out a snort. 

The man cleared his throat, saying, "I'll leave you to your dance," slipping his arm back, nodding once before quietly walking away. Bruce caught the way he was looking at Tim over his shoulder, but said nothing about it. 

"Thank you, darling," she said, nodding gratefully. Alone with Tim, her tension released, and she accepted his touch as they began to dance. 

He smiled at her, suddenly looking younger, though he was only seventeen, in a child-like way, his expression soft and caring only for what she had to say about him, and she wished he could always be this happy. 

* * *

"You're that Wayne bitch everyone's always talking about. Get up."

"Do _not_ touch her and _never_ refer to her like that again."

"Shut up, kid, you're not the one with the gun," said the masked man, turning the end of his barrel at the ten year old who was glaring at him. His friends were keeping an eye on the outside. "You're a brave kid though, I'll give you that." 

"An insult coming from someone like you," Damian remarked, not back down a bit in the middle of a bank heist. The police arrived earlier than they expected (because of their incompetence, really), and now it had turned into a hostage situation. They wanted to use his mother. 

"Damian," Bruce said, pretending to be frantic. "Don't provoke the man," she reminded.

No mask, no fighting crime. 

That was the protocol. The two of them could easily knock out the three masked robbers, but they weren't Batman and Robin; they were Bruce and Damian Wayne, a wealthy mother and son making a visit to the bank. No risking their identities with witnesses involved, and there were several other hostages, including the bank tellers and the helpless security guard. They were to set their personal alarms and wait. 

"Come back here," she continued, reaching out because she hated guns. They made her angry, they made her blood run cold when it was pointed at a child. 

The end of this gun was pointed back at her, the man warning, "Hey, don't move." He turned back to Damian. "Sit down." 

Damian huffed, not pretending a bit, but he obeyed, going to sitting back to where his mother was. He continued to glare at the man. 

"Damn kid," the man said angrily, aiming to hit  boy with the butt of his gun. 

"No," Bruce said, reacting quickly and covering her youngest with her body, and the man hit her instead. She sucked in a breath, now keeping son in her hold. 

"Mother," Damian breathed out, eyes wide. 

"Quiet, baby," she whispered for him to hear, "keep your head down and wait. Someone's on the way." 

She yelped when she was grabbed by her hair, and she begrudgingly let go, letting herself be dragged. She brilliantly played the role of a scared hostage, all three men stupidly giving their attention to the police as a figure in black slinked through the vents, giving a sulking Damian a nod before taking the bank robbery down. His sister did quick and concise work. 

He was reunited with his mother soon after that, standing near to her as she refused medical assistance. Then he saw the robbers being carried away in handcuffs, and he hoped in on one voice, cursing at his friend like the pathetic man he was. 

"Damian?" Bruce called when she noticed her son walking towards the men, following right after. 

"You," Damian said, standing in front of that man.

"What the fuck do you want, kid? Go back and suck on your mom's tits.”

The expression on the boy's face darkened, and before Bruce could stop him, Damian slapped the man across the face, the sound of the hit echoing through the air. There was silence. 

"Mark my words," he said, "I will  _ruin_ you," and he was pulled away by the shoulder and ushered away. Alfred arrived in the sake of time, and they were heading home as if nothing had happened. 

Later, when Damian apologized with his head down, she asked him to help her apply ointment for the bruise on her back.

* * *

Dick grimaced, stitches still painful after so many years. Alfred gave him a sympathetic look, the gash on his arm horrendous to look at but needed immediate attention. 

"Apologies, Master Dick," the old man said, continuing. 

"It's okay, Alfred," the acrobat replies, smiling. "The anesthesia is working, it'll stop in a bit."

Alfred nodded. "Will you be staying at the Manor tonight?" 

"If I knockout by the end of this, then yes please."

The older man huffed, finding that only half amusing. 

The sound of the Batmobile signalled Bruce's return, and she leaped out of the car, taking off her cowl. "Is it just that?" she asked, watching carefully. 

"It's the worst," Alfred answered. "And scratches and bruises as usual, but he'll live."

Bruce nodded, turning to Dick. "Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?" she asked him softly. 

"Yeah," Dick said, but he pouted just a little, lifting his free arm towards her. "But the stitches hurt, Bruce."

The woman sighed, but there was a small smile on her lips, remembering old times. She peeled off her armor, letting the outer layer land on the floor, and she wrapped her arms around her son's shoulders, letting him hug her with one arm as she remained standing. 

Dick chuckled, his laughter muffled against the crook of her shoulder. "Much better," he said. 

He ended up staying the night. 

* * *

"Honey," Bruce said, not looking over her shoulder as someone drove into the Cave, "Alfred left you something to eat on the table. It's your favorite."

She didn't get a reply, her eyes on the blue screen of the computer, though she could hear him getting off his bike and pausing.

"Are you talking to me?" Jason said, helmet removed. 

Bruce turned her head then, raising an eyebrow the way Alfred did, mildly inquisitory. "Of course?" she said, not sure why her son would say that. "You still like peanut better and strawberry jam sandwiches, don't you? There's also chocolate milk in the fridge."

The young man looked at her, as if trying to figure out something, but he put his helmet down, heading towards the small pantry area of the Cave, and he went through the fridge first, pouring himself a glass of chocolate milk, and then sat down, starting on the first of the stack of three sandwiches left on the table for him.

Bruce hummed as her son ate, chewing slowly, but she shrugged it off, turning back to the screen. She hadn't said anything wrong, had she? Well, as long as neither of them start disagree with each other, she supposed it was fine. 

Half an hour later, looking over the chemical compound she discovered at Gotham pier at the site of an abandoned building that had collapsed in on itself, Bruce heard the sink turn on, the rushing of the water lasting several seconds. The fridge opened again, another glass being poured out, and then Jason was walking over. 

She didn't turn around, and he didn't say a thing. He just placed the plate with the last sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk at the computer. Bruce looked up, but Jason was already walking away, heading back to his bike and picking up his helmet. 

"I'll be back," Jason said as his farewell, and he left. 

Bruce watched quietly, and when the sound of his bike faded away, she looked over to the plate and glass. With a small smile, she picked up the last peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich and ate. 

* * *

Cassandra was at a charity ball, the first in a while. She didn't go to these kinds of things if she could avoid it—too many people, too many movements, too many voices—but Bruce asked if she wanted to come along tonight. Tim and Damian were unavailable, doing something with their respective times coincidentally. 

The older woman hadn't really like these kinds of things too for a few years already, but she went anyway because Gotham could always use more charities. It always wanted more glimpses of its beloved White Light. She went to these events for the people, and tonight, Cassandra went for her. 

Still, Cassandra hoped the ball would be done with soon so she could go back to helping the city in her own way, though she was glad she came, the other guests trying to get close to her mother like they were her friends. They were not, everyone read like strangers and Bruce like a stiff doll, mechanically smooth and pitch perfectly sweet. 

A woman tried to touch her hair. A man took her hand to kiss instead of to shake. Another man said she looked absolutely delectable. Another woman passively insulted her makeup. The list went on. 

"Are we almost done, Bruce?" Cassandra asked, two hours in. 

Bruce laughed a little, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Cassie," she said, "just a little longer. Did I tell you what this charity is for?"

"No."

"It's a charity for battered spouses and partners, and Diana is coming in as a surprise speaker and I came to support her. However, if you want to leave, you don't need to ask me." 

Cassandra shook her head. "I don't like the people here," she said, "what they do to you. They get too close, and they touch you."

"They do, angel, but it's just another night out of the week."

"And they make your hands shake," Cassandra said, looking at her mother's hand which were still, clasped tightly together. 

Bruce released her hands, taking a look at them. "They do," she repeated, if not a bit distance. 

Cassandra frowned, and so she grabbed one, interlacing her fingers with Bruce's, and held on. "You'll be okay," she said, smiling assuringly at the older woman. "I'm here. Hold my hand."

Bruce just blinked for a moment, and then she let out a laugh, clasping their hands tightly together, and nodded. 

**Author's Note:**

> (This got so much sweeter than I expected, but that was how the story ended up becoming. I am filled with so much love for these characters, writing this made me happy. <3)
> 
> If you like my work(s), please check out my Twitter and consider supporting me: [@kappachyun](https://twitter.com/kappachyun?s=09).


End file.
